


Missing Scenes from Series 3

by Raelynn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, I fixed series three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 06:05:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2802233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raelynn/pseuds/Raelynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I realized today that this never got posted here, just to FF.net, so I'm fixing that now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

By the fourth text, Sherlock realized that Molly was very, very drunk. 

He had been working on an experiment in the kitchen of Baker Street, peering through his microscope and taking notes on a piece of paper next to him on the table. When he’d heard the first text come in, he hadn’t bothered to go fetch his phone from the sitting room. The second one, about ten minutes later, caused him to roll his eyes and stand up, stalking over to the phone and scooping it up. Opening up the text as he returned to his microscope, he stopped mid-stride when he read them.

****

happy anniversary to me. just me. always just me

i can’t believe we ha a huge fight on our annivesary.

i can never do anything right, i’m sure this is my fault, too.

well, i guess you’re never alone wit ha bottle of whine, are you. haha. i made a  
pun.

Sherlock stood for a moment, staring at his phone. Then, decision made, he hastily put away his sampling materials and grabbed his coat and scarf, heading down the stairs and out onto the street. Hailing a cab, he directed the driver to Molly’s flat.

Molly answered the door after the third knock, leaning on the door and looking up at Sherlock. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun and she was wearing mismatched pyjamas. The bottoms were covered with drawings of cats and the top had coffee cups on it. She had her wine glass in her hand still, half empty.

“Oh, it’s you.” she said, opening the door wider for him to come in. “Come to watch me drown my sorrows?”

Sherlock let himself in, divesting himself of his coat and scarf before taking the wine glass out of Molly’s hand. “Hey! That’s mine!” she protested, stumbling after him as he made his way into the kitchen.

Putting the glass in the sink he got out a drinking glass and filled it with water and shoved it into her hands, which were reaching for her wine glass. She glared down at it and then glared up at Sherlock, but took a sip of it. “Fine.” 

Sherlock led her over to the sofa and sat her down next to him. She curled up against him. “Why are you here?”

“Because you seemed like you needed adult supervision.” said Sherlock, nudging her hand to get her to take another drink of water.  
“Right,” said Molly, sipping the water. “So why didn’t you send an adult?”

Sherlock chuckled at this, and took the water from her and set it down on the coffee table. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Because I’m beginning to think I don’t actually know any adults. Except maybe Mycroft, and I was not sending Mycroft over here to make sure you didn’t give yourself alcohol poisoning.”

Molly thought the idea of Mycroft babysitting her while drunk was hilarious, and laughed and laughed. Sherlock watched her. Why did he feel so fiercely protective of Molly Hooper? Why did his heart race when her brown eyes lit up with laughter? Well, to be honest, he knew why, he’d known for a long, long time. 

Once she stopped giggling, she looked up at him and found him watching her. “What?”

“I like seeing you laugh.” Sherlock said, his voice low.

Molly smiled up at him, her drunkenness making her bold. “What else do you like seeing me do?”

Sherlock smiled down at her. “You’re very drunk, Doctor Hooper. And engaged.”

“Do you think I could possibly be sober enough not to think you’re beautiful and amazing? Also, Tom’s an ass.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “I suspect once you two make up you’ll feel differently.”

Molly sighed and reached for her water glass. “Suddenly being drunk isn’t fun anymore.”

Sherlock put an arm around her, snuggling her close to him as she sipped on her water. “Molly, you know neither of us are in the right place for...this.”

Molly didn’t answer this, staring into her water glass. After a few moments she looked up into his blue eyes. “The only ones responsible for that are us.”

Sherlock looked away from her. “I know.”

Molly finished her glass of water. “I should probably go to bed. Goodnight, Sherlock. Thank you for checking on me.” 

She made her way into the bathroom, and Sherlock could hear her brushing her teeth as he slowly collected his coat and scarf. He saw her go into her bedroom, and then he turned and let himself out of the flat, back out into the chilly February night. Turning to look back once, he whispered “Goodnight, my Molly” before flagging down a cab to take him home.  



	2. Chapter 2

Baker Street had been totally taken over by wedding planning. Sherlock was having fun helping with it, but there were times when he missed the peace and quiet of Baker Street just after his return to London, with John with Mary at her flat and Baker Street silent other than the sound of his violin.

But at the moment every spare surface was covered with wedding planning items and he really just wanted some peace and quiet. Molly was at work, maybe he could escape off to her flat for a few hours and think.

He wasn’t prepared for what he saw when he picked the lock and walked into the flat. Molly was there, standing in the middle of the room with fourteen dresses hanging on various items around the room. She stood there in her robe, staring at Sherlock as he walked in the door.

“What the HELL are you doing?” she said, glaring at him.

“You’re supposed to be at work.” he said, as if this explained everything. 

“I’m also supposed to have already picked out a dress for John and Mary’s wedding, but as you can SEE, I have not!” She gestured around to the collection of dresses in her sitting room. 

Sherlock closed the door behind him and stood, hands clasped behind his back. “Get rid of that one, that one, that one, and oh god, both of those.” he said, pointing. 

Molly narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”

Sherlock sighed and pointed at each dress in turn. “Those two are all wrong for you, color wise. That one will not flatter your...figure. That one is made out of material so cheap I can tell from over here, and THAT one,” he said, coming to an end of his monologue, “is just ugly.”

Molly went and gathered up the five dresses and put them on the sofa. “Great, so now I’m down to nine.”

“I’m going to make tea,” said Sherlock, making his way into the kitchen. “Start trying them on for me.”

Molly looked after him, perplexed. “You’re going to help me pick a dress for the wedding?” 

“Why not, you clearly need help.”

Molly grumbled at this, but gathered up a couple of the dresses and took them into her bedroom. 

Sherlock sat down on the sofa (as far away from the offending dresses as possible) and sipped his tea, waiting for Molly. She came out in a blue number, and asked him to zip her up. He tried not to notice his hands shake as he placed one hand at the neckline of the dress to hold it steady, and the other to pull up the zip. She stepped away from him and turned around.

“What do you think?”

“It’s too long. Get rid of all of the dresses that length or longer. Try on another one.”

He unzipped Molly and went back to his tea. She came back in a green number, the blue one added to the pile of rejects on the sofa. She turned to have Sherlock zip it, but he stopped.

“Hm. No. No sleeves. Do you have anything sleeveless?”

Molly sighed, grabbed two of the remaining dresses from the sitting room and went back into her bedroom.

The moment she stepped out of the room, Sherlock’s mouth dropped open. She was wearing a beautiful yellow flowered number, gathered at the shoulders but sleeveless. 

Sherlock stood and walked to her, spinning her around to zip her dress. “This one, Molly. Definitely this one.” He finished zipping her and spun her around again, keeping her at arm’s length while he looked her up and down. “Perfect.”

Molly blushed. “Are you sure?”

“I’m rarely wrong, Doctor Hooper.”

Molly smiled. “Okay, this one it is. Unzip me?”

Sherlock unzipped the dress, gazing at her back as he did. Molly scooted back into the bedroom, and Sherlock went back to his tea. Molly came out in a pair of trousers and a tee-shirt and began putting all of the rejected dresses back on hangers. “Now I have to return all these.”

Sherlock smiled. “I hope you have an easier time picking out your own wedding dress, Molly.”

Molly froze in place, unable to meet his eye. “Y-yes. I’ve been looking, but I haven’t found anything I really love yet. Well, I have until the autumn, at least.”

Sherlock nodded, and stood. “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time, Molly. I’ll be going.” He leaned over and placed a kiss on her forehead. “I’m sure you’ll look lovely...at both weddings.”

He made his way out the door, leaving Molly to stand there, a pile of dresses in her arms, frowning. Why hadn’t she told him she hadn’t even tried on a single dress yet? That the very idea of trying on wedding dresses made her cry?

She knew why.


	3. Chapter 3

Bored -SH  
Don’t you have a case? -MH  
Nothing interesting, and John’s on his sex holiday. -SH  
It’s a honeymoon, Sherlock. -MH  
Is he on holiday? -SH  
Yes. -MH  
Are they having a lot of sex? -SH  
I expect so. -MH  
Sex holiday. Anyway, I’m BORED. -SH  
What do you want me to do about it? -MH  
Don’t you have anything interesting at the morgue? -SH  
No idea. It’s my day off and I’m watching telly and I am not getting dressed to go to St. Bart’s just because you’re bored -MH  
Can I come watch telly with you? -SH  
I don’t know what’s more confusing, that you want to watch telly, or that you’re ASKING before you come over. -MH  
Is that a yes? -SH  
Yes. -MH

Sherlock walked into Molly’s flat, surveying the surroundings. Molly was on the sofa in a pair of pyjama shorts and a tank top, her hair piled on her head in a messier bun than usual. She barely glanced up as he made his way into her flat, flipping channels with the remote. 

“Tea?” asked Sherlock. She shook her head. “It’s too hot for tea, Sherlock.”

“It’s never too hot for tea.” said Sherlock, making his way into her kitchen. She ignored him while she settled on a rerun of Top Gear and set the remote down on the sofa next to her. She listened to Sherlock clanking around in the kitchen and put her feet up on the coffee table. It was August, it was delightfully warm, and it was her day off. Not even Sherlock Holmes could ruin it.

He crossed between her and the TV, setting down his mug and a glass of ice water. “For you.” he said, indicating the water. She smiled “Thank you.”

He sat down on the sofa. He wasn’t too close to her but he wasn’t at the other end, either. She was aware of his closeness, peripherally, but she tried to ignore it. It had been a rough summer. She and Tom had been trying to work on their issues but the longer things lingered, the worse it got. They’d already pushed the wedding date to next year, at Molly’s insistence, but the longer things went on the more she knew they weren’t going to get married. She was just too chicken to actually call it off.

“Why do they always pick on the little one?” Sherlock asked suddenly, pointing to the television. 

“Because it’s funny?” Molly said, taking a long drink of the ice water. 

“When I tease people no one thinks it’s funny.”

“Sherlock, that’s because that’s tv and you’re REAL.”

Sherlock scowled. “Stupid rules.”

Molly shook her head and turned back to the telly, leaving Sherlock to grumble to himself about how no one understood him. 

Sherlock sat quietly through the rest of the episode, but then he was on his feet again, digging around in her kitchen. “Don’t you have any biscuits?”

Molly closed her eyes and counted to ten. “No, Sherlock, I don’t have any biscuits. If you came over here because you were bored, that’s great, but if you just came over to be bored AT me, then I’m going to kick you out because I am enjoying doing nothing quite a lot.”

Sherlock poked his head out of the kitchen and looked at her, trying to deduce if she was serious. He decided she was, and came and sat back down on the sofa. “You seem troubled.”

“I am, Sherlock. I’m very troubled. My wedding date has been pushed forward six months and I’m not even sure if that’s far enough. I don’t think I want to get married.”

Sherlock looked at her for a long moment. “I am led to believe it is not uncommon for people to be nervous about their approaching nuptials.” He saw the look on Molly’s face and hastened to continue “But if you really don’t think it’s the best idea…”

Molly sighed collapsed into Sherlock’s lap, her head resting on his leg. She looked up at him. “I don’t know what I want, Sherlock. I wanted normalcy and a boyfriend and pub dates and dinners with his parents and knowing someone would be waiting for me at home. But the longer this goes on the more I realize that all of those things are great in and of themselves, but you have to really LIKE the person providing them.”

Sherlock reached down and smoothed some flyaway hairs out of her face, tucking them behind her ear. She smiled up at him, and he froze, tamping back down the feelings he’d been fighting since his return to London. Molly had to find her own way, and he would not be a part of her breakup with Tom.

Well, not overtly. It didn’t take the world’s only consulting detective to deduce what was going on in Molly’s head and heart. Tom had been plenty for her...when there had been no Sherlock Holmes in the picture. He’d tried to stay away once he realized how bad things were getting for Molly and Tom, but he kept finding himself drawn back here, to her flat, to her arms. 

He told himself he was just being friendly, that he was making up for how awful he’d been to her in the past. That the loss of John’s constant companionship had left a friend-sized hole in his life, and he was filling it with Molly. That was all. 

But no matter how many times he deleted it, he continuously came to the same conclusion: he was in love with Molly Hooper. He also knew loving Molly Hooper would destroy her. So he’d delete it, again and again. 

They watched TV for another hour in companionable silence. Molly drifted in and out of sleep in Sherlock’s lap as his hands absentmindedly played with her hair. Finally, she disentangled herself and sat up. “I’m supposed to meet Tom for dinner.” she said by way of explanation. Sherlock nodded, and leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. 

“Good luck, Molly.”

Molly smiled a sad, small smile. “Thanks.”

She managed to hold back the tears until the door closed behind Sherlock Holmes, but only just.


	4. Chapter 4

She hadn’t seen him since the day John Watson had dragged him into her lab, Mary and Billy in tow, and insisted she run his urine for drugs. She had sent John into the bathroom with him to make sure he actually gave a sample - it wouldn’t surprise her in the least if Sherlock kept warm pee on him to pass drug tests when he was using.

But of course he’d failed her drug test...failed it spectacularly. The last she saw of him was when he and John slunk out of the lab after she’d slapped him and yelled at him. Of course he’d picked that moment to comment on her lack of engagement ring. Even high as a kite, he’d observed. She hadn’t told him she’d given it back, she hadn’t seen him since before she did. She’d wanted to talk to him about it, but no, it all had to happen the way it did.

Now? Now he was six floors up, having been shot. Sherlock Holmes had been shot. He’d flatlined twice. Sherlock Holmes was too stubborn to die, she scoffed. They weren’t letting anyone into his room to see him. He was still sedated. Being a doctor had its upsides, though, and she knew she could get in. She could see with her own eyes that he was still alive.

She forced herself to finish her shift. From the nurses’ gossip she overheard throughout the day, they were going to keep him sedated at least until tomorrow. There was nothing to gain by rushing up there. The later she waited, the better chance of it being quiet, too. 

It was around 8:00 when she finally showered and changed back into her street clothes, then took the elevator up to the floor Sherlock was being kept on. She made her way down to his room. Peeking in, she saw he was alone. She stepped in, and stood by his bedside.

He looked almost peaceful, despite the tubes and wires attached to him. She seldom ever saw Sherlock completely still, much less sleeping. She stood at his bedside for a few moments, then reached out and took his hand.

“Sherlock, you’re going to pull through this. You’re going to pull through this and we’re going to figure out what the hell is going on between us because we have wasted. So. Much. Time.” Tears tumbled out of her eyes down her face as she gently squeezed his hand. “I don’t know what this is, or what we should do about it but I am done not doing anything. I can’t lose you before we figure out why you keep showing up to my house when you’re upset, why we cuddle and watch tv and act like best friends, but we can’t take that final step. I know you don’t know how to deal with your feelings but this is too much. I can’t lose you like this, with things left unsaid, unfinished.”

Molly stood there a few more moments, long enough for Mycroft Holmes to quietly walk away from his spot in the doorway. He hadn’t heard everything Molly Hooper had said to his little brother, but he’d heard most of it.

Molly collapsed on the sofa as soon as she got home. The idea of getting ready for bed was too exhausting, and she pulled the quilt off the the back of the couch over her. She’d sleep here, where she’d napped so many times in Sherlock’s nap, or against his shoulder. He’d be working on his phone, or his laptop, and she’d pass out watching telly. It was comforting. 

Just as she got settled in, however, there was a knock at the door. Molly bolted out of bed. Who would be here? If it were about Sherlock, surely someone would call? But what if he was...dead? They wouldn’t want her to be alone when she got the news. Her mind was spinning as she threw open the front door to see Mycroft Holmes standing there.

“My-mycroft.” said Molly, stepping back to let him in.

“I’m just going to be a moment, Miss. Hooper.” 

“Doctor” corrected Molly automatically.

“Doctor, yes. Dr. Hooper, I couldn’t help but overhear you talking to my brother today.”

“Oh-OH. Um, I thought I was alone.”

Mycroft smiled a condescending smile at her. “Yes, I know. Have you been seeing a lot of my brother?”

Molly blinked. “He gets lonely, with John living with Mary now. He comes over. Most of the time he works and I watch telly and half the time I fall asleep. I don’t know that I’d call it ‘seeing’, as such.”

Mycroft nodded. “My brother is a troubled man, Dr. Hooper.”

Molly laughed at this, the ridiculousness of the statement overpowering any fear she had of Mycroft Holmes. “Mr. Holmes, you are not telling me anything I don’t already know.” 

Mycroft nodded, then picked up his umbrella from where he’d propped it against the wall just outside the door. “Dr. Hooper, I try to stay out of my brother’s ...personal affairs. Just know what you’re getting into.”

Molly could feel her blood begin to boil. She tried to hold her composure as she glared at Mycroft. “I’ve known your brother for over four years, and I have “gotten into” plenty already. Or did you forget that I was the one that falsified his death records, who put her career on the line to protect him. I’m the one who stole a CORPSE and threw it out a window. So don’t tell me about what kind of trouble your brother could get me in, because I have been there, Mr. Holmes. Now if you don’t mind, we’ve both had a long, emotional day and I’d like to sleep before I get up and go back to St. Barts.”

Mycroft stared at her for a moment, then spoke, almost to himself. “It appears that my brother’s pathologist is a lot stronger than I expected. Just be careful, Dr. Hooper. I’ve known my brother since the day he was born, and even I keep him at arm’s length.” He turned, at this, and walked away, not looking back.

Molly stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him go, and then turned and closed the door. It seemed that when one Holmes brother was too incapacitated to complicate her life, the other one was more than capable of stepping in.


	5. Chapter 5

Molly planned to spend Boxing Day putting away the small amount of Christmas decorations she’d put up. Toby was usually pretty good about leaving the tree alone, but she still refused to put the breakable ornaments from her childhood on the tree. Instead, every year as she pulled out the less sentimental (and more plastic) ornaments she would handle the treasured memories of her childhood carefully, then wrap them back up and put them away again.

She’d do the same thing when she put the others away, savoring the memories that came with each ornament. Christmas wasn’t the same now that she’d lost both her parents, and even Baker Street was quiet this year, with Sherlock and Mycroft and Mary and John at Mr. and Mrs. Holmes’ country house for Christmas.

She didn’t mind, not being invited. She wasn’t part of that inner circle and she never would be. What she minded was having no one at all to spend it with. If she’d stayed with Tom, she wouldn’t be alone this Christmas. She could have even been married, maybe talking about how maybe 2015 would bring a baby to complete their family.

But down that road lies madness, and she brushed the thoughts from her mind while she finished packing up the decorations. Christmas had come and gone, and she had spent it quietly, alone. 

It was early evening when the knock came at the door. She had settled in with a book, a fire lit in the fireplace and a glass of wine at her side. She glanced at the door and then opened it, to find a very tired looking Sherlock Holmes on her doorstep.

Standing behind him was a man she did not recognize, and also Mycroft Holmes. She opened the door, and Sherlock turned to his brother. They exchanged quiet words, and Sherlock stepped in and closed the door behind her.

“I have an hour.” he said, pulling off his coat and tossing it casually on the couch.

“What?” Molly asked, confused. “What’s going on?”

Sherlock stopped and looked at her. “You haven’t seen the news?”

Molly turned and glanced at at the television, then back at Sherlock. “No, it’s Christmas, I didn’t want to subject myself to bad news.”

Sherlock’s face fell at this, and he reached out, taking Molly’s hands in his. “I...I killed a man yesterday, Molly. He deserved it, more than anything. But even Sherlock Holmes can’t go around killing people.”

Molly froze. “You killed someone? Sherlock, what happened?”

“He was blackmailing Mary. He was going to destroy her, and that would have destroyed John, and I thought I had a plan, I thought I knew what was going to happen, I thought I could fix it Molly, I really did. I thought I could fix it and everyone would be happy and now …”

By the end he was positively whining, his eyes filling up with tears. “And now I have to go away.”

Molly looked up at him. “Prison? Won’t there be a trial?”

“No, Molly, there won’t be a trial and there won’t be prison. They’ve decided that no prison could contain me, or more accurately, that I would never be safe in any prison. I’m being sent on a mission for the British Government.”

Molly stopped and pondered this. “That doesn’t seem like a punishment.”

Sherlock stared down at her. “It is if I’m not successful.”

Molly’s mouth formed an “O” as she stared up at him. “They don’t expect you to be.” she stated, flatly. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her legs suddenly struggling to support her. “They expect you to be killed.”

Sherlock nodded, leaning down to plant a kiss on her forehead. “They do.”

Molly sighed, looking up at him. “I’ve done what I swore I wouldn’t do, Sherlock.”

Sherlock frowned. “What, Molly?”

Molly pulled Sherlock over to the sofa and sat down, pulling him down next to her. “When you were shot, the first time you were in the hospital. They still had you sedated and I visited you. I told you that we were wasting time, and that I wouldn’t waste any more time. That when you were better, I would make us deal with...us. That we’d wasted so much time tiptoeing around the truth and that you getting shot showed me that time is precious and shouldn’t be wasted.”

Molly leaned her head against his arm, staring down at her hands, which she twisted in her lap. “Then you escaped, and were readmitted, and you were so sick for so long and then I didn’t know how to do it and now…”

With this, she felt the tears pricking in her eyes and she looked up at him. “Now, like  
knew it would be, it’s too late.” 

Sherlock stared down into her chocolate brown eyes. “I’m sorry, Molly Hooper. This isn’t your fault. This is my fault, for spending a lifetime deciding I was too good for sentiment, that I was too strong to be made weak by feelings.” He practically spit the word “feelings”, reaching down to take one of her small hands in his. 

They sat quietly for a few moments, until Sherlock spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I had to beg Mycroft to let me come see you. He said you could come to the airfield with John and Mary when I left in a few days.” Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. “However, public declarations are not our way, are they Molly Hooper? Our moments are quiet moments in this flat, where we danced around the truth and pretended we weren’t falling down the rabbit hole.”

Molly buried her face in his arm at this, letting the tears flow freely. “I’m not sure what’s worse, Sherlock. Losing you, or knowing that it took losing you for us to have this conversation.”

Sherlock wrapped his arms around his pathologist, nuzzling his face into her hair. “I think it took this for me to be able to have it, Molly. I am so, so broken. You knew that. You knew that and you loved me anyway and if there’s any kindness in my life that I will never let go of, it’s that you loved me anyway.”

Molly looked up at him at this, a sad smile on her face. “Always. Forever. I don’t love who you could be, Sherlock, I love who you are. I always have, and I always will.”

Before he could talk himself out of it, Sherlock leaned over and crushed his lips to Molly’s, capturing her in a kiss that spoke volumes. In that kiss were five years of unspoken truths, of undeclared love, of stolen moments where he pretended he was normal. Stolen moments of watching telly or working while she napped against him. Stolen moments of a life he never believed could be his. He’d spent so long denying that he could have ever really had that, and now, faced with losing her forever, he realized that he could have had it all along if he’d only been able to deem himself worthy.

He broke the kiss and checked his watch, glaring at the front door. He knew Mycroft and his security were standing outside the door. He knew more were outside the building. Sherlock would not escape. He hadn’t planned to try. His fate was sealed and it accepted it.

But he had 45 minutes with his pathologist, and they’d wasted a lifetime of minutes already. He stood, pulling her to her feet, and led her down the hall to her bedroom. She followed him, willingly, unquestioningly. 

“I’d hoped to have more time if this ever happened, Molly.” he said, gently pulling her hair out of the plait it was in. “But that’s us, isn’t it? Years wasted, boiled down to mere minutes.”

He slowly undressed her, memorizing every line and curve and mark on her body, placing it safely in the room for Molly in his mind palace. He would never forget one moment of this. Molly let him drink her in, knowing what he was doing. She smiled shyly at him.

When he finished, she reached up and repaid the favor, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off his shoulders, placing kisses on his chest as she fumbled with his belt, and button, and zip. When she had him undressed she stepped back and gazed at Sherlock. Her Sherlock, if only for the balance of this hour. 

He stepped forward, leaned down, and kissed her again, then scooped her up in his arms and gently laid her on the bed. He stretched himself out over her, kissing her mouth, then her cheeks and her jaw and her neck, kissing all the spots on Molly Hooper. A lifetime of lovemaking, condensed to this. He slid down her body, kissing her collarbones and moving to her breasts, capturing one with a finger and thumb and the other with his lips, nibbling and sucking and tilting his head up to watch her face.

She was smiling, but he could see the tears building up in her eyes. He briefly second guessed the decision to make love to her, but knew that there was no way either of them could stop now. 

His kisses continued down; her abdomen, her belly. He deposited a soft kiss into her belly button before moving down once more, placing a gentle kiss on each hipbone before nuzzling her curls until she slowly slid her legs apart for him. His breath caught then, as his senses were flooded with her sight, her smell, the sound of her rapid breathing. He stopped for a moment, reveling in the sensory overload, before he dipped his head and added taste to the cacophony of input. His mind spun, and he heard her gasp as he began working his tongue over her warm wet center, his hand reaching up to stroke at her slit before sliding one long finger inside.

Her hands came down to his hair now. Not to pull, or to direct - she was letting him make love to her, letting him set the pace. She simply carded her fingers through his hair and whispered soft words of encouragement. Emboldened by her words, he picked up the pace, making love to her with fingers and lips and tongue. She tensed under his ministrations and began to cry out, her mouth trying to form his name but as she came apart she couldn’t do it. He lifted his head when she was done, gently placing a kiss just above her curls, and slid back up her body to kiss her mouth once again.

“Molly…” he whispered through the kiss. “I’ve always loved you.”

The tears fell then, despite the smile on her face. “Oh, Sherlock.” she said, pulling back. “What do you want, Sherlock? I want to give you everything and I want this to last for hours but it can’t, so what do you need?”

Sherlock looked into her eyes, echoing what he’d said to her all those years ago: “You.” She smiled at him, and rocked her hips up at him. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to know what she was offering, and with a growl, he shifted between her legs and sheathed himself inside her, both of them gasping at the sudden sensation.

He went slowly, kissing her, whispering between kisses and thrusts all the things he’d wanted to tell her for so long. How he loved her, how beautiful she was, how much she meant to him, how he dreamed about her, how he’d been so stupid to deny himself the one thing he needed the most. She whispered back, how she’d loved him and would have waited forever for him, and how being there for him had meant so much to her. 

When he came, it was not the earth-shattering orgasm of frantic lovemaking, but the culmination of years of waiting, of the solid satisfaction of knowing that Molly Hooper loved him, and he loved Molly Hooper, and no matter what the world threw at him, he would die knowing that he loved and was loved. 

He lazily thrust a few more times, before rolling off of her and gathering her into his arms. He reached down and pulled the sheet over them. “Let them come get me. I’m not leaving your bed until they make me.”

Molly sleepily smiled at him, and traced circles around the scar on his chest with her finger. “Let them come.”

And ten minutes later that’s exactly what happened. Mycroft stalked in, staring down at his little brother. “Clothes, Sherlock. It’s time to go.” he nodded his head at Molly. “Dr. Hooper.” Molly shyly smiled up from under the sheet, clutching it above her breasts. 

Sherlock stood, not caring a bit that he was naked and sticky from their lovemaking. Mycroft rolled his eyes and turned his back. “Get dressed, little brother.”

Sherlock dressed, never taking his eyes off Molly. Once he had put himself back into some semblance of order he leaned over and kissed Molly. “I love you. I know it’s too little too late, but never forget that.”

And with that they were gone, and Molly curled up in a ball, drinking in the scent of their lovemaking and crying until she fell asleep.

It was three days later when Jim Moriarty appeared on her television screen, and John Watson texted her that Sherlock’s exile had been canceled, given the news.


End file.
